The Black Sacrament
by Sever Alucard
Summary: A story in which the Black Sacrament is performed by a young woman, with a broken heart.


I am besotted, consumed in the need for retribution; he had destroyed my heart, crippling my sanity, he will soon feel the pain I feel. He has driven me to this….

The basement feels darker than usual, surely due by my trepidation; it feels as though the walls are accusing me of preparing this malevolent rite. I had just finished setting out the wax candles around me in a semi-circle before my mind begins to switch, what if I get caught? What if something goes wrong?

No, nothing really matters anymore; I've already gone to the trouble of obtaining an effigy, a skull, which I stole from a shelf in the Mages Guild, so I'm going to finish this. I'm going to finish him.

I sullenly place the empty skull between the semi-circle of wax stumps, my stomach twists into a sickening movement as I swallow back acidic bile, leaving a burning sensation at the back of my throat.

It is then I get an uneasy feeling that someone has entered the room under the cloak of unreality, I straighten my posture as if making a first impression for the unknown observer, and the seriousness of what I'm doing dawns on me.

I flick a match to life, penetrating the darkness of which my eyes had become accustomed to in the last three hours. My eyes narrow at the abrupt intrusion, and I resist the urge to close them completely, and curl up into a ball.

I manage to light the first candle before a cold shift in the air snuffs out the match; I involuntarily gasp, and freeze dead-still in an attempt to remain composed. I pick up the first lit candle with trembling hands and one by one ignite the other nine candles.

The flickers of fire sing a silent keen of madness in my head, illuminating the skull from different angles. My eyes catch on the blackness of the empty eye sockets in the skull, the blackness that appears to be slowly creeping out towards me, trying to eat the last strands of humanity in me; beckoning me to continue the ritual.

My stomach churns audibly, twisting beneath the skin in agonizing self-hatred.

I bring the dormant knife waiting beside me to hand, and I begin rubbing a flower of nightshade onto the blade, accidentally inflicting a shallow cut on my index finger. The poison from the nightshade stings my hand, but I suppress the pain, for it is nothing in contrast to the mental suffering he has caused me.

I lift the skull to my lap and begin carving the required symbol into the back. I take from my pocket a small piece of parchment containing the ritual words written on it, and break the deafening silence of the candles as I begin to chant the evocation.

"Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear." I swallow back more bile as the need to vomit increases.

I fall silent as my ears twitch at the sound of a distant, elongated drum ominously vibrating in the claustrophobic atmosphere of my basement. The skull slowly rises from the ground and stops at head height, I stand up quickly and wait for what is to come next.

The vacant sockets in the skull begin to fill with what appears to be Dunmeri-red eyes, then everything around begins to swirl in towards the area of the skull and manifests into a shrouded body. My notion proves correct as a face becomes visible, it is Dunmer.

"Who do you wish dead madam?" The voice circles like an eagle sizing up its prey, and the bluntly un-romanticized statement penetrates my conscience, my upper torso lunges forward in reflex as I vomit; spilling my acids between the spectre and myself.

"Regret?" The Dunmer inquires after calmly observing my cretinous act.

"No!" I gasp, vomit dripping down my chin. I straighten to meet his eyes, "Primo Antonius, I wish him dead."

The Dunmer stares back at me for a while, his expression not betraying anything save a slight acknowledgment. "It is done."

"What do you mean?" I reply reluctantly.

"He is already dead madam, therefore you may withhold your payment."

My mind tips, and my whole universe crashes, "….What" I desperately whisper.

"He died but five days ago, by the brotherhood in fact, an uncanny coincidence" He muses.

I am stupefied; my mouth twitches uncontrollably as it tries to shape words, but clamps down shut in a stuttered whimper as I give up.

"Good day madam." The shrouded man collapses into himself and disappears, leaving the skull to fall to the ground lifeless once again.

Now he will never know my pain, he was meant to die by my terms, but now he is lost forever. And I am completely abandoned to the mercy of myself.

My mind closes over, I pick up a lit candle and rise from my bloody knees, Proceeding upstairs with a single intention. I arrive in the dining area, placing the animated candle on the table, I set my eyes upon the wine rack, picking out my favourite vintage, Surilie Brothers, I unscrew the lid and take a whisk from the heavy bottle. I pause before hurling the opened bottle across the room, watching the thin trailing of wine swirl through the air, it smashes into fragments against the wall, releasing a liquid burst, it splats to the floor.

I lose myself in a frenzy as I pick out every bottle and heave it with all my 'middle-aged woman' strength into the walls around me. Once all the bottles are destroyed, I look at the mess around me, the once immaculate room, now covered with glistening wine and sparkling glass fragments.

I take a seat at the dining table, and retrieve the candle, after taking a long hard stare at the tiny flame, I throw it across the room, immolating the flammable substance coating the walls around me. The flames rise up and surround me, causing me to flinch at the sudden heat.

I close of the last remaining scraps of reality and surrender to my fate. The flames dance morbidly around me, grinning as they close in. The heat becomes too intense and my skin yields as it begins to bloom into dark reds and browns. A scream escapes my mouth, but it isn't me, for my mind is already lost.

I sit back in my outer-body, listening to the screeching dirge of my physical agony.


End file.
